


Shot Silk

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Bones wears pretty dresses, Crossdressing, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 23:55:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bones wants the dress, but he doesn't want anyone else to know that he wants it. <br/>He might not have a choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shot Silk

Leonard runs his fingers over the crisp shot silk, watching the colour shift from purple to orange. The dress isn't practical; not the clean lines and mobility promoting cut of a Starfleet uniform, but at least six metres of fabric draped and pinned into thick, body length folds and shapes that would accentuate his breasts if he had any, which would run around his waist and hug his body to the hip and then trail loosely down to his ankles if he dared to try it on. 

He doesn't. 

He hadn't thought that this was a prejudice he held, but the moment the thought of a fellow crew member seeing him in a dress, specifically,  _that_  dress crosses his mind, he shoves the beautiful gown back onto the rack so hard it nearly tips over.

Just in time; Jim and Spock round the bend in the covered marketplace and notice him almost immediately. 

"Hey Bones!" Jim calls over, striding purposefully toward him. The doctor, of course, has to step forward to meet him, to dissociate himself from the stunning array of old fashioned evening gowns. "You enjoying your shore leave?"

So focused is he on denying his involvement with the stall that he almost responds in the negative. "Ah... Yeah. Yeah. Good to relax. Don't often see many hobgoblins on shore leave," He deflects. 

"I am here for the purchase of fabric," Spock informs him, as though there is only one possible reason he might take leave. "I require additional gowns for meditation and I do not wish to make use of replicate materials."

Bones falls into step with them, and Spock drifts towards the very store he's just left. He prays to whatever deity is listening that the Sonombrian cogenitor stocking one of the racks outside doesn't notice him and ask if he's come back for the dress. "Isn't that a little illogical, Spock?"

"On the contrary," Begins a long and drawn out history of Vulcan culture and the significance of certain clothing items. By it's conclusion, Jim and Bones are each no more convinced of the logic of his argument, but Spock too has fallen pray to the allure of shot silk. 

The shop owner looks at Leonard pointedly as they take down a role of black silk shot with green to dispense Spock's requested 3 metres. 

As the owner opens their mouth to speak, Bones rushes to come up with an excuse to leave. "My golly Jim, I think I forgot my credit chip in that last store, I'll be right back."

He scuttles away down the market street and into a shop selling antique medical equipment, where he had indeed been half an hour or so before. 

Catching glances at "Tallaf's Textile Emporium," he realises that Spock intend to take his sweet time and resigns to making a purchase to cover up his absence. 

"It's a real amputation set," The shop assistant tells him, "From pre-union Cardassia." 

It looks like a pretty universal affair - a syringe presumably for analgesia, a bone saw and a sharp knife, along with something that might be a clamp but looked far more worrying, and a device that seemed to be an applicator for cauterising oil.

He buys it, and then holds it as far from himself as possible as he sees Jim and Spock leave the textile stall.

"I see you found your credit chip," Jim indicates his purchase.

"I sure did," He replies, still feeling uneasy. 

"Spock's going back up to the ship," Jim tells him grabbing his elbow casually. "But I know you'll keep me company - there's a lovely little bar, just round the corner from that club..."

 

He drags himself into his quarters at almost four am ship time, with his next shift to start at 0800, and collapses into bed. He falls straight into something and jumps back up, turning lights to fifty percent. 

On his bed is a manilla box with a small handwritten note placed carefully on top of it. 

There's no name, and nothing to tell him where the box is from, but the note says all he needs to know.

_Assigning gender to clothing items is not logical._


End file.
